Paladin

by Sally Slater

  Sam maintained her false slumber for a few more minutes, but grew impatient waiting for Tristan to wake up. Tristan’s lips had a mind of their own, drawing ever-closer to her mouth. Unsettled, she turned her head and tried to wriggle out from under his leg.

  The tip of Tristan’s tongue traced the rim of her ear. Sam sat up with a start, shoving at Tristan’s leg. “Get off me, you big lug!”

  Tristan’s lids popped open. His gaze turned lucid after a few quick blinks. “Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I must’ve mistaken you for a woman in my sleep. You’re as slight as a girl, anyway.” He lifted his leg from her hips and kicked her lightly in the stomach. “And I was having such a lovely dream, too.”

  Braeden cleared his throat. “I think the rain has stopped.”

  Tristan pushed himself up onto his knees. “Excellent. Let’s see if we can locate some dry clothes. I want to be on the road in ten minutes.”

  They arrived in Pirama just before nightfall. The city was built at the foot of the Elurra Mountains, the longest mountain range in Thule. Half the city was tunneled into the mountainside while the remaining half stood underneath the sky, surrounded by a high wall made of great gray stones carved from the mountain.

  The gates to the city were already closed, but after some wheedling from Tristan, the gatekeeper let them in through a small postern door, just tall enough to fit a man on horseback.

  “Be careful, milord,” the gatekeeper said, securing the door behind them. “I’d seek lodgings quickly if I were you. You don’t want to be outdoors after dark if you can avoid it. It’s dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? How so?” Tristan asked.

  “Demons, milord. We’ve had attacks near nightly for more than a month now.”

  Sam scanned the empty street, searching for signs of trouble. “What about the Paladins?” she asked. She ignored Tristan’s dirty look. “Haven’t they helped?”

  The gatekeeper scratched his chin. “The Paladins? I haven’t seen hide nor hare of them, not since Paladin Reynard left. He was all right, Reynard, but he was called back east four months ago. The paladins who replaced him—they’ve kept to themselves these past few months.”

  Tristan glanced up at the gatekeeper’s tower, frowning. “What about you? Are you safe up there, alone?”

  The gatekeeper shrugged. “It’s my job, milord,” he said. “You be safe now.” With a parting salute, he climbed the ladder to return to his post.

  They drove their horses deeper into the city of Pirama. In the fading light of dusk, not a single soul stirred. Only the clip-clop of their horses’ hooves and the occasional nervous whinny cut into the silence. “I don’t like this,” Tristan said. “Braeden, do you sense anything unusual?”

  Braeden’s mouth crooked into a sardonic grin. “Demonic, you mean?” He shook his head. “Not now, though I can sense a lingering presence. The city was attacked recently. Maybe last night.”

  “Stay alert, both of you. Demons aren’t the only threat in this city. And keep your eyes peeled for The Stag and Bull.”

  After a few wrong turns, they found the inn in the labyrinth of tunnels drilled into the mountainside. The Paladins’ sigil was carved into the wood of the inn’s door, but half of the circle and pentagram had been scratched off.

  Tristan hopped off his horse and tried to turn the knob on the door, but it was locked. He rapped sharply on the wooden frame.

  The small window at the top of the door slid open. Narrowed eyes peered down at them. “Who goes there?”

  Tristan dipped his head in a slight bow. “Are you John Byrd?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Paladin Tristan Lyons, good sir,” Tristan said. He gestured at Sam and Braeden behind him. “These are my trainees. Though I’d appreciate it if you kept our titles quiet.”

  The voice behind the door harrumphed. “What do you want, Paladin?”

  “Two rooms and a bit of food and drink, if you have it.”

  “You’ll pay for your stay?”

  “Aye, of course.”

  Several locks rattled and unlatched, and then the door swung open, revealing a squat, grizzled man with a long, unkempt beard down to his chest. He scowled up at them. “Come in, come in, you’re letting in the cold air. I’ll see to your horses.” The man ushered them inside and then let himself out. “Wait right here and I’ll come back for you in just a moment.”

  The hollowed-out area where they waited looked more like the opening to a cave than the entrance hall to an inn. The gray rock of the mountain formed a natural ceiling and walls that, were it not for the glow of the sconce torch, would have enclosed them in total darkness. Even with the torch, it took a moment for Sam’s eyes to adjust to the shadowy light.

  The innkeeper returned, opening and closing the door behind him, relatching all the locks. “Follow me,” he said, leading them into the tavern. The tavern was wide and spacious, lit by small clusters of black and white candles placed on the center of tables throughout the room. In the back was a crude stone stairway to the lodging above. “Kitchen’s closed, but there’s fresh bread and jam. Find a free seat and I’ll serve you.” He came around the bar and began pouring himself a drink.

  Sam eyed the mostly empty inn suspiciously. “Does anyone else work here besides you?”

  He snorted in disgust. “I lost all my hired help two weeks ago. Thank the Gods for my wife, or I’d be cooking too. I don’t know a compote from a custard, so be grateful for that small favor.”

  “John Byrd,” Tristan said, getting right down to business, “Glenn Collop of Gwent gave us your name.”

  “Aye,” the innkeeper said, crossing his arms. “What of it?”

  “He said you were a true friend of the Paladins.” Tristan tilted his head to the side. “Perhaps he was wrong?”

  “I won’t lie to you, Paladin Lyons. Times change. Pirama’s not the city it once was. People are dying by the day. It’s hard to remain loyal when you cry out for help and no one comes to your aid. I want to believe in the Paladins, I do. And I’m no fan of the Uriel either.”

  Tristan lowered his voice. “What do you know of the Uriel, Master Byrd?”

  The innkeeper jerked his head towards two men drinking in the far right corner of the tavern. “There’s a table of Uriel men over there, Paladin, if you’d like to find out for yourself.

  “You serve the Uriel?” Sam asked, aghast. The innkeeper really had no loyalties.

  “These days, I serve whoever pays my bills. I can’t afford to be choosey. So don’t go making trouble, now.”

  Tristan shot Sam a quelling glare. “Fair enough,” he said. “We’ll take that bread and jam now.” The innkeeper nodded and left them to themselves.

  “I can hear them,” Braeden said softly. “They knew we were going to be here.”

  “Who?” Tristan asked.

  “The Uriel.” Braeden inclined his head slightly at the two men the innkeeper had indicated.

  Tristan raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “How did they know we were coming?”

  Braeden shook his head. “I don’t know. But they’ve been waiting here for us.”

  “Do you think it’s a trap?” Sam asked.

  “Only one way to find out,” Tristan said, heading straight for their table. Trading shrugs, Sam and Braeden rushed after him.

  The two Uriel watched them approach, their expressions unreadable in the muted light. Sam stared at them in return. One of the men was so badly scarred that his face would turn as many heads as Braeden’s. The other Uriel was a hulking brute, with hands that looked as though they could crush stone to dust.

  Tristan draped his arm across the back of an empty chair. “Good evening, gentleman.”

  The Uriel rose from their seats and assessed them with cool reservation. Tension hung between them, and then the scarred man smiled a slow, amused smile that stretched the ugly white welts along his cheeks. Sam tried not to cringe.

  Tristan reached his hand across the table. “Tristan
.”

  The scarred Uriel returned his grip. “Paladin Tristan Lyons. The pleasure is ours.”

  Tristan started at the sound of his full name. “How did you—”

  The scarred Uriel laughed, a harsh, rattling sound. “Golden hair, large sword, arrogant swagger. Your reputation precedes you.” He turned his head, his eyes boring into Sam then shifting to Braeden. “And you must be Tristan’s trainees. Sam and Braeden, is that right?”

  Sam looked to Tristan, unsure of what to say. How did they know her name? Tristan was famous, but she wasn’t anybody, not anymore.

  “You have us at a disadvantage,” Tristan admitted. “You know our names, yet we do not know yours.”

  “Adelard,” the Uriel with the scarred face said, sinking back into his chair. He flicked his companion’s elbow. “And this is Donnelly.”

  “Hullo,” Donnelly said, his high, soft voice at odds with his beefy build. Sam was almost startled into laughing.

  “Sit,” Adelard said, gesturing at the empty chairs. “The road from Heartwine to Pirama is a long one. You must be tired.”

  “Not so tired,” Tristan said, giving him a grin full of shark’s teeth. He pulled out a chair and sat. “Tell me, Adelard, why are you here, at The Stag and Bull?”

  “I could ask the same of you.”

  “You knew we would be here,” Tristan said sharply. “How?”

  A long look passed between Adelard and Donnelly. Donnelly’s head dipped to his drink, and he stared at the frothing liquid as though it held all the world’s secrets. “You know who we are, Paladin, don’t you?” Adelard asked. “Just as we know you.”

  “Uriel,” Tristan said grimly. “You are Uriel.”

  They did not try to deny it. “We are on equal footing, then,” Adelard said. “I should like to continue to be forthright. The Paladins have their spies, and we have ours. You’ve been asking around about us, and we wanted to know why.”

  “The priestess in Cordoba,” Sam said. “Denya. She spies for you, doesn’t she?”

  Adelard’s gaze swept over her. “Very good,” he said. “Denya is a priestess first, but yes, she is our informant. One of many.”

  “That is not very godlike behavior,” Sam retorted.

  Adelard arched a black eyebrow, contorting his scarred face. “It is if she believes her god is on our side. Then she is doing God’s work.”

  “Why are you telling us this?” Tristan asked. “Why give yourself away?”

  “We’ve nothing to hide, Donnelly or I or any of the Uriel. We’re not interested in playing your High Commander’s power games.”

  Tristan’s jaw tightened. “What are you interested in, then?”

  The Uriel’s dark eyes gleamed, and he leaned forward in his chair. “Protecting the people of Thule. Our goals are not so different, Paladin.”

  “Thule doesn’t need you,” Sam said, scowling. “They have us.”

  Beside her, Tristan groaned softly. “Ignore him. He speaks before he thinks.”

  Adelard chuckled, waving his hand in dismissal. “He is young. And he only said what you are thinking. Spend some time in the West, Paladin Lyons, and see if you still feel the same.” He sat back in his chair. “I will do you one better. Come by our encampment in West Pirama tomorrow morning. There, you can ask all the questions of the Uriel that you’d like.”

  “You would open your doors to a paladin?” Tristan asked incredulously.

  “We close our doors to no one except demons, Paladin Lyons.”

  Braeden lifted his head, the faint glow of candlelight accentuating the contrast of his slit black pupils against the crimson of his irises. “And to me?”

  Adelard gave him a considering look. “You’re no demon. I’ve fought and killed enough to know.” He drained his cup of wine and pushed back his chair. “Should we expect you on the morrow?”

  “We’ll be there,” Tristan said.

  Adelard helped Donnelly to his feet and offered Tristan his hand once more. “Till tomorrow, Paladin.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Braeden jerked awake to the sound of Sam’s soft breathing. The inn room was dark as a tomb, but with his eyes, he had no trouble seeing.

  He and Sam were alone in their room, he was sure of it. Nothing else moved or made a sound. And yet he knew, as sure as he was breathing, they wouldn’t be alone for long. They were coming. Demons.

  He pushed back his sleeves, watching the tides of his blood swell underneath the skin on his arm. The familiar, seductive pull was a potent one, pushing him to the edge of his control. His hands twitched at his side, his fingers curling into claws, eager to rip away the flesh that contained his inner monster.

  For an instant, the walls of the inn room fell away as Braeden was consumed by an insatiable hunger. But Sam’s sleeping form filled his vision, and the bloodlust faded into something else, something he didn’t dare name.

  The fog in his brain cleared, and he acted before he could think too long on the torrent of emotions that flooded him every time he looked at Sam. He shook her awake.

  Sam opened her eyes with a gasp. “Gods, Braeden, I was having the worst dream—”

  He cut her off. “There are demons coming.” He shivered, and not from cold. “I can feel them.”

  “Are you certain?” she asked. Braeden twisted his arm so that his rippling skin was on full display.

  Sam needed no more proof than that. With a grim nod, she threw aside her covers and shoved off the bed. “Let’s go get Tristan.”

  Fortunately, Master Byrd had put Tristan in a room just down the hall from theirs, and they found it with little trouble. Sam reached out to knock on the door and then paused. “Do you think he’s still sleeping?”

  “I would think so.”

  Sam stepped back from the door. “You do it.”

  Braeden rolled his eyes. “Really, Sam?”

  She scuffed her foot against the carpet. “He’s scary right after he wakes up.”

  “Fine,” he said, more amused than he let on. Sam would charge into battle without a second thought, but Tristan had her running. Shaking his head, he knocked, hard enough to rattle the frame. Rumpled from sleep, Tristan opened the door and looked at him expectantly. “Demons,” Braeden said. He need say no more.

  “Hold that thought,” Tristan said, disappearing back into his room. He returned seconds later, water dripping down his hair and face, but looking considerably more alert. “Can you pinpoint where they are?”

  Braeden was a little taken aback that Tristan accepted his warning at his word. It was a strange, new thing to him, being trusted. “They’re not inside the city, not yet. The bulk of them are maybe just under a mile away, due north.”

  “The bulk of them?” Sam asked. “They’re not all together?”

  “Demons are like wolves,” Braeden explained. “When there are more than a couple in the vicinity, they operate in packs because they’re stronger that way. But there are lone demons just as there are lone wolves. It’s harder for me to sense a demon when it’s by itself.”

  “Can they sense you?” Tristan asked. “Does it go both ways?”

  Braeden’s heart twisted. There were some things best left unsaid, some secrets best left buried. He gave Tristan a cool look. “Not till it’s too late.”

  Tristan held his gaze for a moment, and then pulled his eyes away, ushering them inside his room. “Grab weapons from the chest by the bed. And before you ask, Sam, no, you can’t have my Paladin’s sword.”

  Sam’s face fell in disappointment while Tristan chuckled to himself.

  Outside the inn, Pirama was as silent as when they had first arrived, but the air seemed thicker, as if a storm were brewing. The sharp-ridged peaks of the mountain cloaked the city in a dark, uneven pall. A winged creature flew overhead, too far above to make out. Tristan shot it down with the bow he had slung over his shoulder. It fell to the ground in a small back clump. Braeden prodded the creature with his boot. Just a bat. They were all too tense, even he.
>
  Shutting his eyes, Braeden released the first mental shield that kept the demons out of his mind. He felt their tug at the edges. “They’re close,” he said, ignoring the rush of blood in his ears. “Less than a quarter mile.”

  “No point waiting around to be ambushed,” Tristan said. “You lead, and we’ll follow.”

  Braeden drew a knife and sliced into his skin, letting the thrall of the demons carry him. Their savagery lured him in like a fish, and he took the bait, following the line back to the source. He walked with eyes closed, as if under a compulsion, but he held on to the part of him that was human and kept it safe.

  “Where are we?” Sam asked when Braeden’s feet came to a halt.

  Braeden opened his eyes. He had led them into the mountains, to the top of a narrow pass between two near-vertical rocky faces. The ground was covered with layers of stones and pebbles, and the chalky path beneath them was worn and well-traversed. The pass glimmered with flecks of silver and gold under the light of the half-moon.

  In the distance, a bell rang, its peel spelling out a warning. “They’re here,” Braeden said.

  “Shite,” Tristan cursed, his head swinging from right to left. “Where are they?”

  Braeden put his finger to his lips. “Listen, and you’ll hear them.” Claws scuttled and scraped on rock, close enough now that anyone could register the sound. Something rattled and buzzed, and he could pick up a faint humming.

  “I hear them, but I can’t see a thing,” Tristan said between clenched teeth. “If we stay here, we’re doomed. We won’t be able to attack till they’re too close for comfort.”

  “How many of them are there? Can you tell, Braeden?” Sam asked, squinting into the dark.

  “More than ten and less than a hundred, but more exact than that I can’t say. The first of them are a short distance away now.”

  “You can see in this light?” Tristan asked.

  Braeden tapped the corner of his eye. “One of their few benefits.”

  “Convenient for you,” Tristan said, “but Sam and I are handicapped in the dark. We’ll need to draw them out of the pass if we’re to stand any chance of winning.”